


I'm Glad It Was You

by KiwiBerry



Series: Have Patience and Be Kind [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Shuri and T'Challa ship it, Slow Burn, infinity war was disappointing and I decided to make it better, this is my love letter to mcu stucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBerry/pseuds/KiwiBerry
Summary: Time moves slowly and peacefully, and Bucky knows he should have seen this coming.Or(The time when Bucky realizes he's been in love with his best friend all along)





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky awoke to a face pressed against glass, dark skin framed by the slow defrosting of ice like some ethereal being. Dark eyes studied him a moment before going wide, and the thin, pressed lips broke into childish grin. Bucky could only stare in confusion and a small amount of awe. 

“Hello,” the face said, voice muffled by the glass between them. A finger was tapped against it, before raising into the universal sign of ‘one moment’. 

The face disappeared then, and Bucky blinked into his surroundings, mind rousing enough to remember where he was, what had happened to him. 

The glass before him rose slowly, the panel of smooth metal hissing small puffs of cold air. Bucky felt the heat before the cold had fully disappeared, shivering at the drastic temperature change. He looked down a moment, raising his right hand before remembering he couldn’t do the same with his left. 

The room he stepped into was not a place he recognized. The room he remembered being in, sat atop a bed and waiting with a forced smile, had been blinding white and smelled of disinfectant. This place was coated in a sleek, blue chrome and smelled of cinnamon and burnt popcorn. 

Bucky took a hesitant step forward, drawn to the floor to ceiling windows that looked out into some underground cavern. Large tracks connected the various tunnels and he watched as something fast sped past him, round and sleek with one car after another. For a moment he thought he caught a flash of light behind glass walls, violet and dreamlike.

“Easy,” a voice called out as he fumbled in his walk, legs feeling like he’d been on a three-day march with no sleep, the memory of a lifetime ago. “Your body’s only just waking up and your muscles may have atrophied a bit while in cryostasis.” Strong hands steadied him upright, and he turned enough to see that same, blinding grin that he’d awoken to. 

“Shuri,” the girl said, extending her hand in greeting. She was dressed casually enough, hair pulled from her face and a pair of earbuds loose around her neck, which made her following words even more surprising. “Princess of Wakanda.”

Bucky took her hand after a moment, reminding himself to use his right and not the left, “Bucky Barnes. From Brooklyn.”

Shuri raised a brow, looking him up and down. “I know who you are, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. I think the whole world does by now. But none of that matters because, right now, you are my new project.” 

The word left a bad taste in Bucky’s mouth. “I thought I wasn’t going to wake up until they could fix me?”

Shuri strode across the room, leaving Bucky alone and staring as a large holo screen appeared at the swipe of her hand. “You weren’t.” She gestured to the top of the screen where Bucky’s full name was on display. Beneath it were various pictures of him, both new and old, along with photocopies of letters he didn’t remember writing, places and names he couldn’t recognize. But the thing that stopped him, that made his voice catch in his throat and eyes go wide, was the portrait of Steve Rogers in the bottom left corner, posed in a uniform Bucky could barely remember. A time when Captain America had no plans to enter a war zone, and Bucky could breathe easy. 

_But I changed that._ He closed his eyes against the guilt he could feel welling up inside him. _I couldn’t protect him._

A snap of fingers not far from his face brought him back to attention, and Shuri watched with a look of disapproval. “You’ve done enough sleeping. Now, we work. But first—”  
With a tap to her bracelet, music began to blare around them, bass heavy and notes erratic. “Mood music,” she continued, and Bucky could only sigh before nodding his approval. 

 

After spending a few hours with Shuri, Bucky realized two things. 

The first was that she had boundless energy, constantly moving and talking and asking questions with those curious, wide eyes of hers. The second was that she was as sharp as a tack, and twice as smart as anyone Bucky had met in his life. Shuri was kind and well-meaning with a heart of innocence that only made her stronger. It reminded Bucky a bit of Steve, back when he was still fighting in back alleys against guys twice his size and breaking the record for most enlistment forms filled out in six months. 

Bucky was instantly attached, and couldn’t help but to begin feeling hopeful. Perhaps he could be saved, after everything. Fixed by the nimble hands of a child genius with enough sass to make the entirety of Brooklyn weep. 

 

At first, he was at Shuri’s mercy as she completed countless neuroscans, conducted cranial mapping, and a whole long list of other tests Bucky was sure he’d never heard of. But she was steadfast and acted without hesitation, so he believed he could trust her. 

When he got uncomfortable or reminded of his days trapped in a chair, electricity coursing through him, Shuri remained patient and kind and made countless adjustments to better suit him. She’d tease him relentlessly for it, but it was good natured and never blaming. 

Bucky sometimes wondered how much Shuri really knew about him. 

 

After the tests, Shuri began asking questions. They ranged from how he was feeling to memories of a past he struggled to remember. Sometimes she would bring up the day before he went into cryostasis, but Bucky preferred not to think about that too much. 

Mostly, Shuri just liked to switch between talking about their favorite foods and the torture he underwent at the hands of Hydra so seamlessly Bucky found himself unable to truly focus on the bad. 

He wondered if this was what therapy felt like. 

 

When Bucky thought he couldn’t take any more questions, Shuri shoved him back behind glass. 

“I need you unconscious for this next part,” she explained, hands gentle yet firm upon his back, his shoulders, guiding him into a comfortable position. “And considering I’ll be poking around in your brain, it may be safer to have you contained as well.” 

Bucky could tell she hated saying the words out loud, body language betraying the tone of her voice that said Bucky wasn’t a danger. But he was, even if Shuri had come to know the him that wasn’t. She didn’t deserve to see the monster within him, the Winter Soldier that would snap her neck in an instant. 

Shuri was tense and nervous, a concentration in her eyes Bucky hadn’t seen before, and he offered a smile in the hopes of reassuring her. “Okay,” he breathed, and for a moment, she seemed convinced. 

“It won’t be too long,” she promised, moving to help lower the glass and metal until it felt like it was suffocating him, “I’ll see you soon.” 

Shuri threw in a peace sign with the smile she gave him, face slowly fading behind frosted glass. 

Bucky closed his eyes and wondered if ‘soon’ might be another seventy years. 

 

When Bucky finally woke again, mind hazy with the last snippets of a dream he couldn’t peace together, he was thrown by the appearance of Shuri with a finger pressed against her lips, demanding silence before he could even let out a single, shivering breath. 

The panel before him opened, and Bucky pushed his languid body forward, curious and hoping to stretch out the numbness that encased him. 

His gaze followed Shuri’s only a moment before he was sure his legs would give out beneath him. 

Steve was lying on a small, squared off couch pushed against the wall, long limbs curled beneath a dark maroon blanket. His hair was longer, sticking out in odd places in small, matted tufts, and the start of a beard was showing on his face. 

For a brief moment, Bucky wondered if he was breathing, the unnatural stillness of the man unlike he’d seen before, conjuring flashes of car chases and dodging bullets with a shield no bigger than one’s chest. But when he looked closer, he could almost see the small huffs of breath escape from Steve’s mouth, the imperceptible rise and fall of his shoulders. 

_Steve Rogers is in Wakanda,_ his mind informed helpfully. _Steve Rogers is sleeping on Shuri’s couch._

“He showed up this morning,” Shuri explained when she caught the bewildered expression across Bucky’s face, and gave a smile to show her amusement. “He looked ready to fall over if I even breathed in his direction, so I offered him my couch. He was asleep before I could even find him a blanket.”

Bucky let his gaze linger on Steve’s sleeping form, nodding at Shuri’s words. For some reason, he was surprised by how Steve still looked the same, still whole and heroic and a million other things Bucky couldn’t even began to describe. But the small changes, like his hair and beard and the deep circles beneath his eyes, were troubling him, eliciting an itch Bucky was too afraid to scratch. “How long have I been gone?”

Shuri kept her voice hushed as she spoke, swiveling slowly in the seat of her chair. The glow of the holoscreen behind her illuminated her face, and Bucky realized then she must have dimmed the lights. “Well, that depends. When I first woke you up, it’d been six months. Now, it’s closer to a year.”

Bucky couldn’t help but look incredulous. “What happened to ‘see you soon’?”

Shuri shrugged, her smile not reaching her eyes. “Your brain is like---.” She paused as if whatever she’d been about to say she knew Bucky would never understand. “Your mind is complicated and takes time to sort through. But, because I am amazing, I’ve progressed to a point where I would like to test something.” 

Shuri motioned to the chair across from her. Bucky hadn’t noticed it before. 

 

They talked for what seemed like hours, this time allowing Bucky to ask his own questions: what was happening in the world, how were the Avengers faring, did everyone still hate him?

Shuri always answered as best she could, but when Bucky would push her for more than that, she’d shake her head and apologize. “There’s only so much the internet can tell me. He may know more, though.” 

Bucky turned over his shoulder, to where Steve was asleep, and had almost forgotten the man was there at all. “He’s always been such a light sleeper,” he said, something bothering him about the other’s deep sleep that he couldn’t quite catch. During the war, everything had woken Steve up, from sirens to bombs and gunfire in the distance. It was a long way from Brooklyn, and Bucky had taken it upon himself to help ease his friend’s mind. If that meant sharing a tent and coaxing Steve back to sleep with mumbled reassurances, a hand reaching out to comfort, it was a burden he’d been willing to take on.

Shuri stared at her knees a moment, suddenly looking guilty. “I may have something to do with that. It’s a tea my mother made to help us sleep when we were small. I increased the ingredients, given his age and advanced biology, but I may have overdone it. It’s totally safe though! I give it to my brother all the time when he’s being stubborn.” 

Steve looked so peaceful when Bucky glanced back at him, no tension in his face and lips no longer turned down in a disappointing frown. For a moment, Bucky entertained asking Shuri if she could send some of that tea with him when he left. _If_ he left. 

“You’ve been through so much together.” Shuri’s words were slow and careful, as if afraid to break the silence that had settled around them. “Can you tell me about it? Your time together?” Bucky must have seemed hesitant, cold at her words, for Shuri’s tone grew impossibly softer. “Maybe just think of a really good memory, one where you both were happy.”

Bucky wanted to laugh. When was the last time he’d felt happy? Memories of Brooklyn and world fairs were lost to him, but his mind still flickered to the moment Steve had stared him down in a small apartment in Romania, leather journal held so carefully between his hands. He’d been scared, yes, terrified of what Steve would bring with him: the memories and pain Bucky tried so hard to forget. But a larger part of him had been happy. Happy because Steve had come for him, hadn’t given up on him like everyone else even though Bucky knew he should. 

Voicing his fears had terrified him, in the metal seat of a jet, staring into Steve’s back like his shoulders held all the answers. The silence that had hung between them terrified Bucky, suffocated him to the point that he thought whatever misfortune befell him was what he deserved.

 _Am I still worth it?_ Bucky asked himself again, asked Steve lying asleep behind him, and he felt his own shoulders sag under the weight of an answer. 

Shuri’s voice only reached his ears then, and he turned toward her, a small flicker of dread settling in his stomach. “What did you say?”

Shuri was so still as she held Bucky’s gaze, the flicker of dread grew into full blown panic as she repeated herself. “ _Zhelaniye, rzhavyy, Semnadtsat_ ’”

The words sounded strange on her tongue, her own accent distorting the syllables, hitting the sounds like an off key piano note. But Bucky recognized them all the same.  
He stood instantly, searching for an exit, a place to run far, far away, wondering how long it would take to wake Steve up so he could protect Shuri--

Bucky froze in his panic, and breathed in deeply, mind finally settling on a course of action. But in the next moment he hesitated, and then again, before a few long moments of silence stretched before him and nothing happened.

There was no pain, no fear, no shifting inside his head while Bucky Barnes fell away and the Winter Soldier took control. There was just him and his thoughts and Shuri smiling at him as if he’d just told her she’d saved the planet. 

Without speaking, Shuri turned in her chair and rolled herself to her holoscreen, typing frantically as Bucky watched in astonishment. “Three words,” she breathed, as if unbelieving herself. “Three words in and I even said them twice yet no reaction.” She turned her chair once, then twice, vibrating with excitement. “I’m brilliant. Brilliant!” She kept speaking after that, more to herself than anyone else, and Bucky found he could no longer understand her as she easily shifted into her own native language. 

He took the moment to look down at his hand, clenching and unclenching, and listened as Steve shifted on the couch, consciousness slowly drifting back to him. 

Shuri no longer tried to keep her voice down. 

 

Bucky was back in cryo not long after Shuri’s breakthrough, complaining of a growing headache and a tightness in his chest that wouldn’t relent. 

Shuri watched him gently, excitement flashing to worry and defeat as she led him back behind glass. 

The last thing Bucky remembered seeing was Steve starting to sit himself up, shoulders lifting and eyes fluttering open as he rubbed at them with an open palm. He liked to think he’d caught Steve’s gaze before the frost fogged his vision, blue eyes unfocused yet trained on him, and that the smile he gave in return didn’t look as fake as Bucky felt. 

 

This time when Bucky awoke, it was not to Shuri’s face. The glass opened without warning and the warm air that rushed past him sent chills up his arms, invading the cool air he’d become accustomed to. 

Stepping out, Bucky turned to face a rather grim looking Shuri. Her eyes were trained on the screen before her, two windows of what looked like room surveillance. 

“Everything alright?” 

Shuri flinched, as if Bucky’s presence had surprised her. 

“I hope so.” Her voice was half a whisper, as if convincing herself more than Bucky, and she flicked the screens away. A smile took over her face then, and Bucky hated how quickly she could turn her emotions on and off. He liked to think they’d spent enough time together that Shuri could be honest with him, at the very least. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky took a moment, moving his arms and shoulders, kicking up one foot and then the other. “Good. A bit stiff, but good.”

Shuri clapped her hands together, smile slowly growing into sincerity. “Excellent. Because today we start physical evaluations.” 

Bucky tried not to grimace at the glint in the girl’s eyes as she ushered him toward what looked like a rather complex treadmill. 

 

As it was, Bucky was very much out of shape. His super soldier modifications had helped prevent catastrophic damage, aided of course by Wakanda’s ever advanced technology. But when Shuri pushed him through a workout regimen he should have been able to do in his sleep, he realized he would need a lot more than training exercises to get back to where he’d once been just over a year ago. 

To meet this goal, Bucky ended up staying awake much longer then he’d ever been before. He spent hours under Shuri’s careful watch, stretching and lifting and running until he couldn’t. Some days she even joined him, proving to Bucky that the girl was just as strong as she was smart. 

Other times, Shuri would just chat with him, asking about his day (he’d been allowed to wander outside the lab now and even received his own room, under the condition of constant surveillance and a door that locked from the outside, of course), how he felt, and the weather he could not see or feel from beneath the ground. Their conversations would switch like the tide, from a kind-hearted tugging to a soul wrenching crash of words, but always too quick for Bucky to really linger long on one thought or another.

It Shuri hadn’t been so inherently kind, he would have said she’d make a great politician. 

 

As Bucky’s physical progress grew, Shuri slowly worked back around to his mental conditioning. She’d confront him with words, Russian pronunciations that would snap in his head like rubber bands, and make him grit his teeth in pain and anticipation. Some days were better than others, but Bucky continued to stay himself and that was progress, only the faint flicker of the soldier inside him begging to be let out. 

 

Within weeks they’d gotten through seven words before Bucky had felt his head spin and chest heave as his muscles screamed at him, images flashing through his mind like static. Shuri’s voice was no more than a far-off echo on her eighth word, growing more distant by the second, and that was how Bucky knew something was wrong. 

_возвращение на родин._

Memories surfaced as he lost Shuri’s voice, slipping past all the locks and walls he’d been building, trying so hard to forget. But this time there was no violence, no unsettling pull under his skin or numbness behind his eyes. 

The memory was of Bucky standing within a large circle of men, cheering and chanting his name. No, not his name: Captain America. He turned his head, caught Steve smiling shyly beside him, gaze distracted by something other than the cheers around them. Bucky followed and caught the flash of brown curls and bright, red lips before turning away. 

“Let’s hear it for Captain America!” he said, projecting through the crowd with a bravado in his voice he did not feel. His throat felt tight and the words sounded hollow even to his own ears, but a voice in his head told him not to cry. This wasn’t his Steve, not anymore. 

_He doesn’t need me..._

Bucky opened his eyes, head pounding, and realized Shuri was strong arming him back into his cryo pod. 

“Don’t worry,” she said, voice calm and soothing. She reached up to lower the panel slowly over him. “We’re so close, James.”

“Bucky,” he corrected, hating the him that conjured in his mind at the name, a lonely and broken man lost in the dirt and bullets of Europe.

Shuri smiled, a small tug at her lips as she waved to him through the glass. We’re gonna be okay her eyes said, a promise Bucky could only hope one of them would keep. 

 

There was a sticky note on the glass, a bright yellow thing that seemed so out of place, Bucky could only stare for a few long moments. 

It was written in all caps, and scrawled in a handwriting he did not recognize. Miss me? It said, and Bucky felt his heart jump at the thought of blonde hair and blue eyes, _finally._

But when the glass lifted, and Shuri was nowhere to be seen, he locked on to the woman sitting perfectly still on the coach Steve had once slept on, blonde hair so different to when he’d seen her last. 

“Hey stranger,” she said, a tilt to her lips that Bucky assumed was meant to be a smile and not a menacing leer. 

“Romanoff.” The name came out reflexively, as if some subconscious part of him had recognized her and immediately went for distance, the words _threat_ and _mission_ surfacing in Bucky’s mind. 

“Don’t be so formal. We crossed that bridge when you shot your target through me. Call me Nat.” Nat leaned forward a bit in her seat, waiting. Her gaze seemed to be cataloging him, searching over his missing arm, the clarity in his eyes. 

“What do you want?” It was the only thing on Bucky’s mind then. No one was supposed to know he was here and the only person who did was Steve. His location had to be kept a secret, T’Challa had said after long days of running came to an end and Bucky felt nothing but exhausted relief, otherwise he was a liability. A danger to the world. 

Nat raised a brow at his question, but seemed unbothered by it. “Quite the charmer. Are you always this talkative on the first date?” 

Bucky only stared at her, expression unwavering. “How did you find me?” 

Nat only shrugged, a devious look in her eyes. “I have my ways. I also may have had Clint sing the national anthem every time Steve walked into a room. Apparently, it caught on. Sam really got into it near the end.”

Bucky ignored the urge to inquire, knowing he was better off not trying to understand how Natasha Romanoff’s mind worked. “Does he know you’re here?”

“Not yet,” she said, tucking some blonde strands behind her ear with a smile. “He seems pretty one-track these days.” She tapped the manila folder in front of her then and slid it Bucky’s way, offering it like some kind of peace treaty between them. “I picked you up a souvenir.” 

Bucky stared at the folder a moment, reminding him of lab notes and the small paper clipped images of himself he’d always catch out of the corner of his eye, bracing himself for whatever Hydra decided came next. 

Nat allowed him to stare, perfected patience written across her face. Bucky supposed she’d be more than happy to wait all day if he chose, which made him that much more curious. 

Eventually he conceded, pulling the folder toward him under Nat’s watchful gaze. 

It was not what Bucky had expected. The paper inside was thin and grainy between his fingers, smudges of lead and charcoal playing around the edges, the sign of a heavy hand. They were sketches, each page adorned with a different image, a different place or face. Each one was painstakingly drawn to the smallest detail, lines strong and intent, not a single moment of hesitation to be found. 

Bucky recognized them instantly.

“He stress sketches,” Nat explained, noticing the way Bucky’s face changed with the realization. “Told me I could have whatever ones I wanted, donate the rest. He turned down my idea to sign and sell them.”

Bucky felt protective against the idea of selling Steve’s work, wondering for a moment if you could even put a price on the essence of Steve captured within his drawings. He flipped through the images a moment, moving beyond the first couple. Some were of skylines, others large open fields or far off mountains. Most had people as the foreground, faces as distinct and different as if Steve had conjured them specifically for this purpose. Others were less refined as he continued, sketches Bucky recognized that were half drawn during one of Steve’s people watching sessions. Even when he’d been bruised and sickly, Steve had still loved people, believed in them in spite of everything he’d ever known. 

There was a smaller page at the very bottom of the stack, almost lost amongst Bucky’s quick scanning. He pulled it to the top, noticing the faded lines running from left to right. Note book paper. Something drawn on a whim, a moment where Steve grabbed the nearest thing he could find and simply drew. 

It was a portrait, that much Bucky could tell. The lines were a bit faded, and the pencil seemed to smudge easier against the thin smoothness of the page. For a moment, Bucky couldn’t place the man, but he felt familiar: the dark eyes that seemed to look right at you, hair trimmed short yet unkempt in a rather boyish manner. The expression he wore was rather hard to place, not quite smiling but a far cry from any kind of sorrow or anger. It was a look Bucky had seen every time he’d looked in the mirror, caught between his past and future like some symbol of the perfect dichotomy of man. 

“Steve was hesitant to hand that over. Said he couldn’t quite get the expression right.”

The words hit Bucky deeper than he’d expected, as painful as the knife that had left a scar under his rib cage from a mission he’d gotten too comfortable on. He saw beneath Nat’s words into the heart of the problem: Steve didn’t recognize him anymore. For Bucky, the transition from Sergeant Barnes to Winter Soldier had been slow enough to become accustomed to, to accept as reality. But for Steve, seventy years had only felt like hours, and the Bucky he remembered falling from him within arm’s reach had suddenly formed into a cold and unfeeling stranger. A monster with his face. 

“You can hold on to those. Plenty more where they came from.” Nat stood then, stretching a bit as she did. Bucky took note of the weariness in her movements, the exhaustion that she hid almost too well. “Get better soon, Barnes.” She stopped beside him as she left, one hand resting gently upon his arm. “He needs you.”

Bucky tried not to seem too guilty at the words, desiring nothing more in that moment than to crawl back into cryo until he could forget all about Steve and his undying loyalty to him. Steve had friends now, had a built a life and a family he could rely on. No, Steve didn’t need Bucky anymore, and Bucky refused to admit how much he still needed Steve. 

Nat was gone before he could form some kind of goodbye, still unclear on where the two of them stood. It left him with an ache in his chest, one he wasn’t even sure Shuri could fix. 

 

Time seemed to move faster after that. Bucky was awake for longer periods of time, gone for even shorter, and it left him confident enough to start asking Shuri his own, personal questions.

“So, can I ask what you’re doing, or is that still confidential?”

Shuri glanced away from Bucky’s most recent neuroscans, a mess of calculations and images he couldn’t even hope to understand. “I’m essentially changing your memory associations in order to create a moment of positive reinforcement instead of triggering the subconscious persona of the Winter Soldier.” She noticed Bucky’s unease at her words, and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’m not moving around anything important. Only the associations working in tandem with your conditioning. Promise.” 

“And how does that work?”

Shuri turned back to her holoscans. “Do you really want to know?”

Bucky only had to think about it a moment. Something like reverse conditioning might work better if he was kept in the dark. “No. Not really.”

Shuri’s expression was thoughtful as she put pen to holoscreen. “How do you feel about the science behind hypnotism?”

Bucky wasn’t surprised by the question, not really, but he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his mouth. Shuri’s tactics might seem odd to most, but Bucky could see them actually working. Could feel it every time she pushed him through physical exams or drilled him with questions. 

Bucky was being fixed, something he’d once thought impossible. 

Bucky Barnes was becoming _human_ again. 

 

Ten. Ten words down and one to go. The past days, weeks, months had been toiling but so worth it the moment Shuri crossed off a new word with such smug satisfaction.

_Один, odin, one, one, nine, seventeen, the beginning of a man he couldn’t remember…_

Shuri’s Russian was even improving, the sounds rolling off her tongue instead of feeling foreign or strange. Bucky even had the audacity to feel a bit proud about it. 

_Грузовой вагон_

Bucky could feel himself unraveling, his mind coming undone in a way that felt less like madness and more like a heavy weight being lifted from his shoulder. 

_Gruzovoy vagon_

They were close. They were so close, but Bucky was panicking and his mind was grappling for purchase while strong hands laid him back down, whispering soothing words as his thoughts faded to black. 

_Freight car_

 

Bucky didn’t know what to do with the Shuri before him, expression grim and defensive as she wielded two vibranium gauntlets wrapped around her fists. Precaution, Bucky reminded himself and moved slowly as he stepped out of cryo. 

He met Shuri’s eyes for only a moment before the words rolled off her tongue. 

_желание, rzhavyy, Semnadtsat’, daybreak, печь, furnace, Devyat’, Benign, vozvrashcheniye na rodinu, один- -_

The words slipped past Shuri’s lips in a hurry, but not fast enough for Bucky to hear each and every syllable in the quiet of the lab. 

_Gruzovoy vagon_

His body tensed, and Shuri lifted her fists high, ready for anything. But they both just stood there, staring at each other with an unspoken question in their eyes, anticipation suffocating them. 

_Did it work?_

Bucky closed his eyes, and waited for the invasion of his thoughts, the flare that would build in his chest, the pounding of blood in his ears so deafening as the Winter Soldier unfolded. But in the long seconds that followed there was nothing but unhurried silence and Bucky wondered if he might cry. 

“Bucky?”

Shuri’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he could only nod in affirmation to the unspoken question. 

_Yes. It worked. You did it._

Bucky hadn’t been expecting the hug that followed, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to Shuri’s height. Her gauntlets slammed against the back of his head in the rush, but he was too blinded by the overwhelming peace in his mind to mention it. 

Instead he thanked Shuri as she pulled away, as sincere and grateful as he could get in the moment. There were tears in her eyes when he looked at her, but she wiped them away quickly, placing a closed fist right over Bucky’s heart. 

“Would you like to go for a walk, Sergeant Barnes?” 

In that moment, Bucky couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of my love letter to MCU Stucky because hot damn am I in deep.


	2. Chapter 2

They relocated him to a village outside the city, away from voices and shadows that seemed to follow in his peripherals. In the valley is was quiet, and Bucky found he could devote himself to menial labor to pass the days as he enjoyed the quiet of his mind. 

It had been two years since Bucky lost his arm, destroyed the Avengers from the inside out and let a man fueled by grief use his face, his past, for revenge. 

Two years gone by, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to see Steve again. 

 

Shuri would tell him that Steve was well when she’d visit, dragging her brother or one of his guards along. She would assure him that all his friends were safe and hidden, ignoring the tone of Bucky’s voice when he repeated the word ‘friends’ back at her, and told him not to worry. 

He’ll come, Shuri’s eyes would say and Bucky wanted to laugh at her innocence. He had been naïve too, once, growing up on stories of brothers and fathers coming back from war, unscathed and hailed as heroes of tomorrow. But he now knew how those sons lucky enough to come home carried invisible wounds with them. A disease of the mind, the soul, that would drown even the toughest man in whispered voices and pale figures, fighting at the front lines of reality. These were echoes of war Shuri was blind to, would hopefully stay blind to, but Bucky found it hard to hide that awareness from her. 

So he would nod and seem hopeful and wait, even though every ache in his body told him he’d be waiting for the rest of his life if he did. But a lifetime didn’t seem so long, he mused one day, if there’s a chance Steve Rogers might be waiting for you at the end. 

 

Bucky was only around for a few weeks before everyone became accustomed to his presence. He would perform errands and chores for local families, and the children would follow him most days, unafraid of Bucky in a way only children can be in the face of danger. They took to calling him “White Wolf” and he had to say, it wasn’t the worst nickname he’d ever had. 

It was on a day when Bucky was hefting various gifts for his day’s work, a compromise since he refused compensation for his labor (he’d done enough bad in this world for money, he figured, any good should be free of payment), that he noticed Shuri and her brother standing in front of his home, flanked on either side by a handful of guards. 

Home was a loose term Bucky would give to the small, thatched roof building T’Challa had gifted him. It wasn’t much, but it had a bed and a stove and table to eat at and, most importantly, it was his. That in itself made it more than enough. 

Shuri was quick to notice his full arms, and helped relieve him of some of the burden. 

“My brother has news for you,” she said, voice hushed as if it was some kind of secret. However, it couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice that Bucky could only associate with trouble. “Do you know how to cook?”

 

As it turned out, Bucky did know how to cook. Or, at the very least, he knew how to follow along as Shuri spilled recipes from her lips. 

They were making something traditional in Wakanda, a heavy and bitter broth that wafted in the small kitchen space as Shuri focused on the vegetables sizzling in a pan. There was a smell to them that seemed familiar, conjuring memories of small, square gardens between buildings and fresh vegetables served alongside bland tasting rations, the taste of chalk heavy in his mouth. 

“That should be it,” Shuri said, clapping her hands together. She tapped the watch on her wrist. “My brother should be along shortly. Now go get changed. You stink of sweat and animals.”

Shuri wrinkled her nose as she said it, but there was a smile pulling at her face that made Bucky allow the shove she gave him toward his bedroom. 

“Do I have time for a shower?” 

Shuri sighed, shoving her watch Bucky’s way. “Make it quick. Okoye won’t appreciate you greeting my brother in a bath towel.”

Bucky let himself laugh at the idea, small but loud enough to echo through the room. 

 

He made it with only a few moments to spare, the ends of his hair still dripping and clothes sticking to his damp skin when there came three precise knocks on his door. 

Shuri opened it without being prompted, greeting her brother with a mock bow and exchanging smiles with Okoye as they stepped into the room. 

T’Challa was the first to step toward Bucky, meeting him kindly as he had many times before. 

“I see your home is still standing,” he said, glancing around before laying his eyes upon the kitchen. “I am glad.” 

Shuri did not hide her groan. “Brother, that was one time--”

Okoye elbowed Shuri a moment, leveling her with a look that said now was not the time. Her expression was so downcast after that, Bucky couldn’t help but smile. 

“I truly am grateful for the help, both yours and hers,” he said, bowing his head in respect. 

T’Challa returned his smile, a bit amused as he gestured toward Okoye. “Please, bring in our guest. We would not want to leave him in anticipation too long.” 

Bucky felt his breath catch in that moment, the amount of people in the room suddenly suffocating as he noticed the dark shadows that fell over him, sun setting through the window at his back. 

When Okoye reentered, she stepped aside in one graceful motion, gesturing with her eyes to the man behind her. 

He seemed taller than Bucky remembered, but it was probably a trick of the mind, the frail kid from Brooklyn overlapping with the present. Yet he still felt as though he didn’t really know either one, past or present. Just hours of memories played on loop until they felt like truth. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, soft and slow, breaking the silence yet letting Bucky know he wasn’t in a hurry. 

It made his chest ache, knowing that even now, after everything, Steve could still treat him with the same compassion and kindness he would have expected seventy years ago outside a small apartment in Brooklyn. 

“Hey,” Bucky returned, heart leaping as time seemed to suddenly catch up to him. 

T’Challa looked between the two of them, observing their silence. “As much as I hate to interrupt your conversation, I am afraid your food may be getting cold.”

Bucky tore his gaze from Steve instantly, feeling caught and called out, and turned his attention to the kitchen counter. There were two perfectly portioned plates ready to be eaten, prepared lovingly by Shuri while he’d showered. He looked her way a moment, nodding his appreciation. 

“Just let us know if you need anything,” she replied back, motioning toward the matching watch on Bucky’s wrist, both a gift and a security measure, before raising her fist. 

Bucky met her halfway, remembering the girl’s hidden strength as her knuckles dug into his. “Will do.”

“I wish you both a pleasant evening,” T’Challa said, echoing his sisters understanding that now was the time to leave. “If you are in need of anything, please do not hesitate to ask.” 

Bucky again bowed his head as T’Challa turned to leave, and Steve gave a small wave in silent goodbye. For a moment, Bucky thought he might say more, but he seemed to bite his tongue at the last moment. 

When the door finally closed, Shuri launching into conversation the moment she hurried the others out the door, Steve stepped forward and raised a hand only to remember he was holding something. 

“They sold them outside your apartment,” he explained, placing the plastic bag gently upon the low table in the middle of the room, separating him from Bucky. 

Bucky moved around it, coming to Steve’s side to peer inside the bag. “Plums?”

Steve had the gall to look embarrassed, as if Bucky wasn’t one hundred percent sure Steve went around giving gifts to everyone he knew. He was that kind of guy. Or at least Bucky remembered him that way. 

“Sam told me you were trying to buy some before we showed up at your apartment,” Steve said quickly before averting his gaze, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. 

Bucky just rolled his eyes at the theatrics, and picked out one of the plums, fitting it perfectly in the palm of his hands. It had been a long day, his muscles finally aching, and when he bit into the tart flesh, rolling the fruit over his tongue, he realized how hungry he was. 

“Thanks,” he said once he’d swallowed the bite. Steve just stared at him as he bit into it again, as if waiting for Bucky to do something other than eat the food he’d been given. “What?”

Bucky raised a brow, mouth full of plum, and Steve reached out one hand, then another, and gently pulled him into a hug. 

Bucky went instantly still, food suddenly feeling heavy on his tongue as his mind began to race. His instinct was to run, escape, survive, but then Steve let out a breath as if he’d been holding it all this time, and Bucky made himself relax, unable to break whatever calming relief had washed over his friend. 

He leaned into Steve, even as his arm hung uselessly at his side. In a moment of confidence, he raised that arm to wrap gently around Steve’s waist, mindful not to crush the plum in his hand. 

They stayed like that for a while, Steve’s arms around his shoulders as he buried his face in Bucky’s hair while Bucky moved his hand in a comforting motion against Steve’s back, reassuring him as best he could. 

It was true they’d both experienced much the same in the last seventy odd years, but the pain and grief Steve felt was much rawer than Bucky’s. To Steve it’d been just yesterday he’d been at war, fighting for good alongside his best friend. For Bucky, the years had dragged on, the past fading into nothing more than words in a museum, a distance that allowed him to breath without being overwhelmed by it all. 

“It’s good to have you back.” 

Bucky tried not to flinch under the guilt of those words.

When Steve pulled away, he still kept Bucky close, eyes seeming to search for something Bucky couldn’t understand. 

_If he kissed me, I’d taste like plum,_ his mind supplied suddenly as he ran his tongue against his lips, sticky from the fruit. 

Before Bucky could follow that thought, Steve was putting out his arm and gesturing toward the food on the counter. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he smiled, oblivious to the fact that Bucky had just thought about kissing him. On the mouth. 

“Yeah,” was all Bucky got out in the flurry of words collecting on his tongue. He followed Steve in a bit of a haze, lost in the idea that maybe he should tell Shuri about his new, unbridled thoughts. 

 

Over dinner, Bucky found that, even with the years between them, he and Steve could still fall into conversation as naturally as if they’d just said goodbye to each other from the stoops of their apartments. 

Their talk delved quickly into Steve offering up information that Shuri had been unable to give Bucky. Steve told him about his teammates, who was fighting with who, who was dating who (that had been a bit interesting, all things considered), how he and Tony were apart yet working together in some pseudo form of teamwork. 

While Steve talked, Bucky couldn’t help but watch him. It all seemed so new to him; the way Steve’s shoulders seemed to hunch as he ate, eyes darting here and there as he took in his surroundings, mouth moving constantly in between spoonfuls of food. Steve ate a bit like a child stuck in a six-foot two super soldier’s body. It made Bucky smile and that, unfortunately, got Steve’s attention. 

“What?” he inquired, attempting to follow Bucky’s eyes. “Something on my face?”

Bucky could only stare, Steve’s brows arching over his eyes, a blue he could only remember shining with trust during nights spent along boardwalk piers, the roar of waves in the distance while they walked amongst the glow of carnival lights and laughter. 

Steve lifted a thumb to his mouth, wiping at the corner. _I love him,_ Bucky’s mind said, as clear and true as anything he’d ever thought before. 

_I always have_ , was the second conclusion, and that terrified Bucky more than he thought it should. He could do infatuation, exchanging feelings for the kindness he’d been shown since Steve reappeared in his life. But the emotions he was feeling were much deeper than that, seventy plus years in the making, and Bucky had only realized it in this very inconvenient moment. 

He made sure not voice any of this as Steve continued to wipe at his mouth, brows scrunching in concern rather than curiosity. Instead he smiled, averting his eyes while he did so, and told Steve that he’d gotten it, whatever it was. 

 

Steve left the next morning as promised, and Bucky tried not to think about how Steve had slept beside him that night, borrowing the extra bed roll he had. He tried not to think about how he had wanted nothing more than to curl into the man, to feel strong arms wrap around him, an illusion of safety he didn’t deserve. 

No, Bucky tried not to think at all when Steve walked away, and focused instead on getting ready for another day of laborious work. 

 

He was in the city, feeling comfortable enough to peruse the shops and vendors, stretch his legs with a change of scenery. He’d receive a few stares, a few nervous avoidances, but by now everyone knew about him. _The assassin. Shuri’s experiment. White Wolf._

However, it was in these streets he ran into someone, someone he wasn’t expecting. Her blonde hair stuck out in the crowd, clothes casual and slouching. 

“Nat?”

Nat looked up, setting down the necklace she’d been eyeing. “Seems sleeping beauty finally got her kiss.” 

Bucky knew she was teasing, unaware of his revelation so many days before, but that didn’t stop the heat of embarrassment across his face. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking around for yet another familiar face, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to see again just yet. 

“Steve’s trapped in some diplomatic disagreement with the King right now, if that’s what you’re asking.” Nat ran a hand over the jewelry lain before her, shining in the summer sun. “Thought I’d give the whole tourist thing a try while they man it out. It’s pretty rare for me to be in another country without having to look over my shoulder every time I turn a corner.”

Bucky couldn’t help the look of sympathy that crossed his face. “There’s a decent place not far from here if you’re hungry?” It was the only way he could think to ask Nat to join him without sounding too eager, too lonely. In a world surrounded by a language and culture he was still getting used to, a familiar presence was always a lingering craving. 

Nat eyed him up and down a moment, perhaps checking for ulterior motives, an ingrown sense of paranoia and fear. But then she smiled, something small and true, and Bucky felt hopeful. “Starving actually.” 

 

Under a dark awning, the smell of fire and food hanging in the air, Bucky finally gave voice to his nagging fears. 

“I think I’m in love with Steve.” He hunched his shoulders as he spoke, eyes straying to the clouds rolling over the mountains in the distance. He pondered the chance of it raining before he made it home. 

Nat didn’t say anything, only stirred the spoon in her cup and watched the ripples move across the rich, earthy color. 

“Nat?” Bucky asked in the silence, a bit unnerved. He’d known the woman to always be intimidating, but none so much when she remained silent, observing. Ready for the kill. 

“It looks like it’s going to rain.” 

Bucky followed her gaze, the grey clouds looming over the edges of the valley. When he turned back, he didn’t try to hide the confusion on his face. 

“What?” she said innocently, raising her cup to her lips. “I thought we were stating the obvious.”

Bucky had only a moment to catch the smile hidden by her cup, and felt the urge to mirror it.

 

It didn’t rain that day, dark clouds looming over Bucky’s head like an omen of his own creation, and it bothered him more than he knew it should. 

 

The rain was battering his home, thunder shaking his walls and windows, when a single solitary knock echoed through the room. 

“The King requests your presence,” Okoye said, dry and untouched by the storm raging around her. Bucky knew if he reached out, his hand would be stopped by an invisible veil wrapped around her head and shoulders. “It concerns your friend, Steve Rogers.”

Bucky let his heart stop only a moment before following Okoye out into the rain. 

 

Steve was hurt but alive, and Bucky had to keep reminding himself that as he watched the man take small, shallow breaths from behind a glass window. 

“He will survive.” 

T’Challa was beside him, gaze never leaving the glass. He seemed so different to Bucky in that moment, dressed in dark scrubs and hands free of the gloves that had been stained with Steve’s blood. 

“Together with our advancements and his accelerated healing, he should make a full recovery.” T’Challa rested a steady hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and he remembered when he himself had shot Steve not once but twice, barely flinching as the red stained his uniform. 

“Thank you,” was all he could say in the moment, an understatement to how grateful he was that Steve Rogers was alive. 

 

Four days. That’s how long it took Steve to start growing restless and roam around the palace, much to Okoye’s annoyance and Shuri’s amusement. It was enough time for Bucky to realize that he needed to tell his best friend he was in love with him before some immortal assassin or alien invasion got in the way. 

They let Steve leave the following day, Nat already on her way with a jet to pick him up. Before he left, though, he stopped to visit Bucky, walking through the door like he lived there, like he hadn’t taken three bullets to the chest five days ago. Steve had been protecting Wanda, who’d been protecting her AI boyfriend, and after being given the details, Bucky couldn’t really place the blame on anyone. They were all just trying to save each other, do good in the face of all this bad; to find some semblance of normalcy none of them seemed to have a chance at. 

Bucky only raised a hand in greeting, already sitting cross legged on the floor with his back against the wall. He had a book in his lap, content to listen to the slow wash of rain from the open window above his head. The rain from five days ago had only begun to let up, an environmental phenomenon he’d learned was rather unique to the Wakandan region. 

“You’ll let the rain in,” Steve said stupidly, taking a seat beside Bucky without much thought. He pulled his knees up and rested his arms atop them, hands hanging between his knees. 

Bucky didn’t look up from his book, but he smiled nonetheless. “After all we’ve been through, you’re worried about me getting wet?”

He’d meant it as a joke, but caught the way Steve’s eyes seemed to darken, gaze filing with something he tried not to understand. 

“I always worry about you.”

Bucky tried not to react to the words, the warmth and affection too close for comfort. 

“Says the man who jumps out of planes without a parachute,” he shot back, attempting to lighten the mood and move the subject away from himself. But Steve’s eyes were still far off, reliving some moment Bucky couldn’t see, so he leaned in close, pressing their shoulders together.

It’d been a long time since Bucky had felt the need to show affection to another person, to touch someone else just for the sake of being close. And that itch only grew stronger as he closed his eyes, listening to the soft patter of rain, the slow rhythm of Steve breathing, until he reached out, taking Steve’s hand in his. 

Steve was tense, fingers hesitant until Bucky gave a small squeeze, threading their hands together until he felt like they’d settled into one another, an act that felt as natural as breathing. 

Bucky opened his eyes when he felt Steve turn, ocean eyes meeting sunlit amber, caught in a crossroads that prevented them coming too close. 

For a moment, Bucky thought about kissing Steve again, making himself vulnerable for the first time in a lifetime, and then some. But he was no longer made of metal and knives, no longer fearless in the face of doubt and the unknown. Now, he was just a boy thrown into a world he didn’t know, a time that had left him behind. 

“I’m glad it was you,” Bucky breathed instead, bringing their joined hands up before placing a chaste kiss across Steve’s knuckles like he always imagined himself doing every time Steve got into a fight, fists bruised and bloodied. _I’m glad it was you who saved me. I’m glad it was you who found me again,_ he didn’t say.

_I’m glad it was you I fell in love with._

Bucky watched Steve’s expression shutter, face suddenly turning cold, distant in a way he’d never seen before. _I hurt him_ he realized, and chided himself for being so selfish. 

He pulled his hand from Steve’s quickly, retreating against the stone man staring back at him. A phone rang then, stopping whatever had been about to come tumbling from Steve’s mouth. 

_It’s better this way,_ Bucky told himself as his gaze fell back to his book, letters seeming foreign and unreadable. 

When Steve finished his call, he looked apologetic. “Natasha’s waiting for me.”

Bucky only nodded, forcing a smile on his face even though he felt like doing anything but. “Try not to do anything stupid, yeah?”

Steve paused a moment as he stood, and Bucky regretted the familiar words that had spilled from his mouth. 

“Sorry,” Bucky got out before Steve dropped to his knees and pulled him into an awkward hug, towering over him with his face pressed against Bucky’s hair. It was an odd angle, Steve leaning over the book in his lap, arms pulling Bucky to almost fall forward, forcing a stretch in his lower back that kind of hurt. 

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving all the stupid with you,” Steve said, before moving back and away, out the door before Bucky could even process what just happened. 

 

Bucky should have known the peace wouldn’t last. It never did. Someone always pushed their ideas, their moral high ground, and everything Steve and those before him worked for would just come crumbling down, panic and chaos par for the course. 

The new arm felt cold and foreign to him, a part of him forgetting he’d even missed it in the first place, and even Shuri’s reassuring smile couldn’t make him feel better, nor T’Challa’s apologetic face. 

“It’s fine,” Bucky assured them both, flexing his metal joints, remembering the hiss and whirr of gears like it was something from a dream, distant yet so vivid and real for a few sparking moments. 

 

Fighting by Steve’s side was nostalgic, and, he would admit, kind of fun. It felt like they were back on the front lines, taking down the bad guys and saving the world one gun-downed enemy at a time. 

But this fight wasn’t so black and white, although, in hindsight, no war ever really was. Here, there would be no tale of heroism, those dying in the line of duty hailed a sacrifice for a better tomorrow. 

No, this battle would end with fire and ash and last words caught in a final breath. 

“Steve?”

It’s the first word that came to him, his mind going hazy and vision blurring at the edges. Steve’s only a few steps away, disheveled and bruised and face smudged with dirt and blue blood. 

He tried to reach toward Steve, but could only watch as his hand disappeared, followed by his forearm, his bicep, shoulder, back, chest. Everything was disappearing, he was disappearing, and Bucky hoped Steve would understand all the things he couldn’t say as he felt himself fade. 

_I’m scared. I’m sorry. I love you._

When Bucky felt the last flicker of himself go out, he tried not to be too upset about it. 

Perhaps the world had just been better off without him after all. 

 

 

 

 

_In the middle of a forest, with hands and knees digging into ash and dirt, the world watched unmoving as Steve Rogers broke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go listen to Tomorrow It's My Turn by Rhiannon Giddens if you wanna be extra sad like me
> 
> I wrote this all by hand before moving it to a computer screen near you and I feel so satisfied with my creative process. 
> 
> Look forward to Part 2 which takes place Post IW because I can't trust the MCU to do my boys justice.
> 
> Come be sad about our boys with me at daydreamjamesdean on tumblr!


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